Timer
by batched
Summary: The TiMER is a device implanted in your wrist, pinpointing the exact day you're going to meet your soulmate: The person you're going to spend the rest of your life with. Molly Hooper has had her TiMER since the age of fourteen, but it has never shown her when she'd meet her soulmate. Based upon the film "TiMER". Contains swearing words. (Multichapter, in progress)
1. Prologue

_BEEP, BEEP, BEEP.._.

Molly opened her eyes, confused and disorientated, and she tried to reach for her alarm in the total darkness of her room. Once she found the mute button, she flopped back onto her bed and stared at the ceiling, blinking rapidly to get the sleep out of her eyes.

Today was the big day; her fourteenth birthday. And everyone knew what that meant: Molly had reached the TiMER-eligible age. The TiMER was a device implanted in your wrist, pinpointing the exact day you'd meet your soulmate: The person you'd spend the rest of your life with.

Once she fully realised this, her heart began to beat faster. Her very own soulmate... the very idea of it made her giddy. Being a hopeless romantic at a young age, she couldn't help but wonder what her soulmate would be like. Would they be like she had always imagined? Better? Maybe worse... But she couldn't get her hopes up too high. No, that would be an unwise thing to do. She'd just wait and see. The TiMER could never be wrong, could it?

She swung her legs over the edge of her bed, put on her bathrobe and made her way downstairs. She opened the living room door and smiled; her parents had hung up garlands and balloons to decorate the room for the festive occasion while she was asleep.

"Ah, good morning, Molly," her father said, making Molly jump. She had not seen him sitting on the sofa before.

"Oh... Morning, dad," she said with an uneasy giggle, taking a seat in the chair opposite him.

He put his newspaper down and eyed his daughter knowingly. "Feeling nervous about today?" he chuckled, raising his eyebrow.

Molly simply nodded, fiddling with her long hair a bit.

"That's nothing unusual," her father reassured her. "I know I was, too, when I first got my own TiMER. But the moment you'll see those little digits flashing on your device, you'll just know... and you'll feel much more at ease, take it from me."

She smiled a bit, nodding again. Of course he was right, he mostly always was. She quickly took a peek at her father's wrist; the faint scars of where his TiMER had once been were still showing. Both her mother and father had their TiMERs removed once they had found each other. _"Because what's the point in still having them? We already got what we both wanted!"_, her parents had said. She supposed they were right. But judging by their scars, it must have hurt quite a bit. She shuddered at the thought.

Her father stretched himself with a soft groan and got to his feet.

"D'you want some breakfast, darling?" he asked, heading for the kitchen. "I could bake you an egg, or something, if you'd like."

Molly shook her head. "No, thanks, dad, I'll be fine," she called out to him. The very thought of food made her feel a bit sicker than she already was.

"Alright, then," her father replied, whistling a bit before sticking his head around the corner of the kitchen door.

"And, um – happy birthday, Molz."

* * *

At the end of the day, after celebrating Molly's birthday with the family and all the guests had gone home again, the doorbell rang.

"I'll get it, shall I?" Molly's mother suggested cheerfully, while Molly admired her gifts.

She'd gotten such beautiful presents; her parents had gotten her a video of the Lion King, Disney's newest animated feature, and in the background "_I Just Can't Wait To Be King_" was playing. They'd also gotten her a labcoat and a small chemistry set, which contained an actual working microscope, some vials and a tiny gas burner, which she had promised to use only if there was a responsible adult present.

She'd also gotten a handmade jumper with a kitten pattern from her grandmother – which Molly absolutely loved, she had put it on right away – , a drawing of a unicorn from her 3-year old niece, loads and loads of candy and some money from her aunt and uncle.

Molly looked away from the telly when she heard an unfamiliar voice in the hallway, and her heart skipped a beat. That must be the person who was going to give her her TiMER...

She immediately got to her feet and nodded politely at the strange woman that walked into the living room with a small briefcase.

"Ah, you must be Molly!" the woman said. She looked and sounded very friendly, Molly decided.

The lady smiled and walked towards her, extending her hand. "I'm Annie, I heard it's your fourteenth birthday. Congratulations!"

Molly shook Annie's hand and nervously smiled back at her, muttering a soft "thank you", and subconsciously rubbed her left wrist.

"Now, if you could just sit somewhere comfortable, I'm going to get everything ready for the implantation," Annie instructed, walking after Molly into the seating area.

When Molly sat down in the chair, Annie crouched down beside the chair and pulled a small device from her briefcase. _It looks a bit like a stapler, but broader, and it doesn't have any staples, _Molly thought.

"Now, it won't take very long," Annie reassured her, "but it might hurt a bit."

Molly swallowed hard, glancing at her parents anxiously, but they simply beamed at her.

She took a deep breath through her nose and focused on the stapler-thing that was now being pressed on her wrist.

"You ready?" Annie asked.

Molly braced herself and gave a stiff nod.

There was a soft sort of beeping sound and a loud click, and Molly hissed at the sharp pain going through her wrist.

"And that's that!" Annie said airily. "Now it only has to match your DNA, it might take a couple of seconds..."

Her parents shuffled closer, and they all watched Molly's brand new TiMER expectantly, when suddenly, her digits began to flash.

Molly frowned. Those couldn't be digits...

**{ - YEARS - DAYS - HOURS - MINUTES - SECONDS }**

Annie grimaced slightly. "Ah, yes, that tends to happen sometimes..." she explained to Molly. "It just means your soulmate haven't gotten themselves a TiMER yet. But don't you worry, _eventually_ they will get one and your TiMER will start working..."

Molly nodded with a brief smile, feeling utterly disappointed. She'd _so_ hoped to find out when she'd meet her soulmate... She could feel something bitter in the back of her throat, as if she was going to cry. But that would be silly. She pressed her lips together and inhaled deeply, swallowing it away.

Her mother smiled weakly. "She's right. It won't take too long before yours will work, sweetie."

Molly nodded again, hoping her mother was right. Everyone would get a TiMER eventually, wouldn't they? It could never take long. Soon, she'd find out.

Eighteen years later, at the age of 32, her digits still weren't showing.


	2. Chapter One

"Sherlock Holmes, you _have_ to get your TiMER implanted eventually!"

The tall, curly-haired man squinted his eyes at his brother, plucking the strings of his violin. It was a huge chaos in the tiny flat on Montague Street; there were notes and books scattered all over the floor, in the kitchen there was still a slimy green substance covering the walls from one of his earlier experiments, and a small, sharp pocket knife had been stuck into the bare wall (It had once been covered with atrocious, peach-coloured flowery-patterned wallpaper, which Sherlock had hated so much that he ripped it all off with his bare hands, much to the utter disbelief of his landlord).

"For the last time, Mycroft, _no_. Soulmates are irrelevant to me and my profession. All that matters to me is the thrill of solving the puzzles that the whole Scotland Yard is not able to solve. Brainwork is what keeps me going, and I don't need a soulmate in my life."

"Brother, as someone who has financially supported this governmental project, I'm afraid must insist."

Sherlock abruptly stopped playing and pointed his violin bow at Mycroft.

"Come anywhere near me with a fucking TiMER and I _will_ stick it where the sun does not shine."

Mycroft sighed, exasperated. "This is a matter of _importance_, Sherlock, _grow up_. Then what about your soulmate? They probably have their TiMERs installed already, and it won't work because you are too stubborn to get one yourself."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and tucked his hands under his chin, as if he was praying. "If my soulmate is _stupid_ enough to get a useless device like that, then they're not exactly my soulmate, are they?"

The tall-nosed man pressed his lips together and closed his eyes briefly, trying to regain his composure.

"Dear brother, you have passed your eligible age twenty years ago. You have had _plenty_ of time. You're _34_, for God's sake, it's time to get yourself a TiMER!"

Sherlock gave his brother a smug smile. "I'd like to see you try to get me one. Anyway," he added, jumping to his feet and heading for the hallway, "there's something much more exciting going on. Before you arrived I got a call from Lestrade. There's been another murder, they've asked me to give a second opinion on the body." He returned to the seating area with his coat and scarf on, and he gave Mycroft an unreadable look.

"Solving murders and providing families the answers they need, is that _not_ a matter of importance, brother? Good day to you," he said, motioning to the front door.

Mycroft got up and walked past him, giving him an incredulous look before turning to leave. When he almost got out of the front door, however, he turned around and raised his eyebrow.

"You might want to clean up the mess before you go, Sherlock... I don't think your landlord would be too pleased if he saw the mess you've made."

And with a cold smile, Mycroft walked away. Sherlock briefly looked at his flat, shrugged at the chaos, deciding he could always clean that up later, and left as well.

* * *

It was a ridiculously short walking distance from his flat to Bart's: he only had to cross the street and walk through a small alley, and he was on the central square of the hospital already. Living near the morgue was very convenient for his work.

He made his way through the corridors and walked down the stairs to the morgue, wondering what delightful answers he could find there. He walked towards the double doors of the morgue, knocked and waited.

A young woman with a mousy brown ponytail stuck her head around the corner and looked at him, blinking in confusion.

"Um... good afternoon to you?"

Sherlock frowned, cocking his head to the side. "You're not Stamford."

"That's right," the woman said, chuckling nervously. "Stamford's teaching right now... I'm new here. I'm Molly. Hooper. My name is Molly Hooper... Sorry, are you working here as well? It's always a pleasure to meet new colleagues."

Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed even more.

"No, I'm a consultant from Scotland Yard, D.I. Lestrade sent me here. I'm here to investigate a body, the body of Andrew Davison. May I come in?" he asked, impatiently.

Molly opened her mouth, as if she were about to say something, and checked her clipboard. "I just did his post-mortem..." she muttered, looking up. "I think I may have heard something about someone coming to check as well, but I don't think I understand... What's wrong with my post-mortems? Is it because I'm new?"

"The police have asked me to do a second opinion. I think you'll find that I'm – no offence – much more observant than you, Millie, so the case can be solved much more easily."

"It's _Molly_," the woman softly protested, but Sherlock didn't listen and walked into the morgue.

"Now if you could just tell me where you've left the body?"

* * *

Molly silently watched the stranger investigate the body she had just properly examined, wanting to say something to break the awkward silence, but not knowing what to say.

"Um," she said softly, "I don't think I caught your name..."

The dark-haired man didn't look up from his investigation, but only gave her a soft "hm" as he looked through his magnifier at the dead man's skin. It surprised Molly how _low_ his voice was – was that even possible?

"No visible marks of violence on the body," he murmured.

"That's what I wrote in my report as well," Molly piped up, and the man briefly looked up, annoyed. Molly swallowed a bit at his icy cold stare and pressed her lips together. The consultant slowly turned his attention to the body again.

"Might have been poisoning..." the man murmured, lifting the dead man's lips with a cotton swab. "Yes, definitely poisoning..."

Molly rubbed her upper arm awkwardly and cleared her throat.

"It's always exciting, isn't it, dead bodies? I mean... it's never nice for the poor fellow on the slab, but they're dead, they can't feel anything..."

The man lifted his head again and raised his eyebrow.

"As much as I agree with you, a bit of silence would be _marvellous_, thank you."

Molly nodded, a bit dumbfounded.

"Yes, but may I just ask you for your name? I didn't catch it," she repeated, blinking a bit.

The man sighed and turned his attention to the dead man's mouth again.

"Sherlock Holmes," he said in a low voice, and Molly thought it sounded like a purr. She blinked and stared ahead of her for the rest of his investigation.

* * *

A short while later, after Sherlock had given many additional details about the man's death which Molly had initially failed to see, he stood up and went to leave. Molly followed him and kept rambling on.

"That was really quite amazing," she said. "I'll have it included on the report and submitted later this afternoon... How did you even _do_ that? Pathology is not even your profession and you did so well, I don't understand h—"

She stopped abruptly when Sherlock reached for his scarf on the coat stand. She frowned and opened her mouth to say something, but Sherlock cut her off.

"Well, I'm off. _Laterz_," he said, dashing out of the morgue and closing the door behind him with a loud click.

Molly blinked, remembering what she had seen. When Sherlock had reached for his scarf, the sleeve of his coat had fallen back to reveal his pale left wrist.

She had seen that Sherlock did not have a TiMER.


End file.
